Eight Years into Never
by hidden-in-a-tree
Summary: Eight years is a long time to love someone, and Greg decides that he’s done with lusting after Nick without the Texan knowing how he feels. But, of course, things don’t go according to plan. Six chapters. Hurt/Angst. Alternating POV. Slash. Nick/Greg.
1. Chapter One

**Author's Note: **Six chapters. Hurt/Angst. Alternating POV. Slash. Nick/Greg.  
**Acknowledgements: **Thanks goes out to Amanda for proofreading.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't know any characters mentioned, except for one, and you'll know he's a figment of my imagination when he's brought up.  
**Summary: **Eight years is a long time to love someone, and Greg decides that he's done with lusting after Nick without the Texan knowing how he feels. But, of course, things don't go according to plan.

**Eight Years into Never  
****Chapter One  
**Greg's POV

_**June 12th **_

He had taken a chance. His heart seemed to almost explode in his chest, his limbs going numb, his mind a complete blank but he had done it. After eight years of deliberating, debating with himself and he had finally done it. Finally.

_"Nick . . . would you, uhh, want to go out sometime?"_

_"What?"_

_"Umm, would you wonna go out sometime . . . like with me."_

_Silence._

_"As in . . . a date?"_

_"Uhh . . . erm, yeah?"_

_Silence, even longer than the first one._

_"Greg . . . I'm straight. I thought everyone knew that."_

Greg hadn't even replied to that. His world was falling away, everything turning to a shady tone. Even Nick blacked out, his form highlighted in gray and all he could hear were the words "I'm straight" echoing in his ears over and over.

Eight years. Eight years of nothing. Eight years of friendship. Eight years of going home to sleep and waking up to find your pillow was wet because you had cried last night over _him_, the guy you thought you'd never be with.

Eight years of wishing, of hoping, of praying. Eight years of telling yourself today would be the day, and that day didn't come. Eight years of mixed signals. And then . . . and then you hear the honest truth.

He's _straight_. Straight, as in not interested in you. Not interested at all.

What are you supposed to do when the person you've loved for eight years just suddenly . . . isn't who you thought they were? Isn't the person you expected them to be?

How do you continue living, when you don't feel like you can? In that minute, that moment, when he says he's straight it's as if you aren't breathing . . . it's not real. It can't be.

It was.

--

**_July 3rd_**

Greg lay in his bed, just gazing at the white ceiling, his thoughts blank, empty. He should be sleeping, he knew that, but he couldn't. He was tired of waking up feeling even more exhausted than when he went to sleep. He dreamed of nothingness, dark, shadowy nothing. No people, no noises, no colors. Nothing.

Sometimes he was glad that he didn't dream. No more dreams about _him_. He used to dream of Nick constantly, dreams where everything would work out okay. Where everything would be perfect.

Ha. Right. Yeah, as if.

Then there were the times he wished he would dream, just so things could go back to normal. Before he had asked Nick out. Back when the Texan would put his arm on Greg's shoulder, or smile at him. Back then . . . things were different. But now things were different as well.

Nick wouldn't even look at him. They hadn't worked together on one case since that night two weeks ago. Greg had a sinking suspicion he had asked Grissom not to put them together anymore. Every time he walked by Warrick, he thought he saw a look of unease in the tall man's vibrant green eyes. Had Nick told, or was he too embarrassed?

Greg wanted his old life back, his old dreams. He didn't want to live with this new regret. His one mistake had ruined the one thing that was important to him: Nick's friendship. That had been jerked away in one heartbeat, one little flutter of his heart and it was gone, like a passing spring shower. Gone.

Greg had tried to be himself at work, to show no change in his behavior. He joked and played around, flirting cheerfully with Wendy and Mandy, but when he sat in the break room alone, he was silent. He used to talk on his cell phone, or go on break with someone else, but that was a thing of the past.

Catherine had wondered if his mother had fallen ill.

Grissom thought he was coming down with something, some sort of flu.

Greg knew what Nick thought.

Warrick, well . . . he didn't really talk to Greg much, anyways, but after a few days that look in his eyes still hadn't gone away. That look in his eyes that told Greg that he knew too much.

A cloud passed by the sun and Greg's bright room rapidly darkened, along with his mood. Did Nick have a clue how hard it was for him to open up to him? Did he know how hard it was for Greg to ask Nick out? No, he didn't have a clue. He would never know, because he was _straight_.

Anger surged through Greg, making the blood pound at his ears. He looked at the ceiling, but didn't really see it. He was sick of this. Tired of this. If he had gotten up the courage to tell Nick, why couldn't he come out to the rest of the team? Why couldn't he stop being a coward and tell everyone else that he was, in fact, bisexual?

Greg swung his legs over the side of his queen-sized bed, his bare feet dangling above the gray carpet. He was sick of this, and he was through with hiding. Hiding who he was, hiding a major part of himself.

The sun had emerged from behind the cloud, blinding Greg momentarily. As his eyes adjusted, he realized he was done with this part of his life. It was time for him to stop pining over a man he would never have—

(_"Greg . . . I'm straight."_)

—and it was time for him to get out there. Nick wasn't going to come round to his house, announcing that he was madly, deeply in love with Greg. This wasn't some TV show or book. This was reality, and reality hurt. The truth hurt. Removing the man you had loved for eight years hurt, too, but Greg was going to do it.

Eight years . . . and no more.


	2. Chapter Two

**Eight Years into Never  
****Chapter Two  
**Greg's POV

_**July 17th **_

There was a content silence in the break room. Grissom was working on a cross word (as usual), Cath was reading an article in the newspaper, Warrick was glancing through a magazine and Nick was just sitting there, his foot tapping lightly on the floor. Content. Peaceful. Relaxed, until Greg came in,

Greg was back. The _old_ Greg, the Greg that was full of energy, always bubbly and always laughing. That Greg.

Almost comically everyone looked up at him standing at the head of the table, a huge grin on his face. He looked happier than Nick had ever seen him.

"Hey," Greg said, breaking the silence. No one replied; they were waiting for him to speak again.

"I wanted to catch all you guys together, and I guess this would be the perfect time," Greg told them all, his voice lowering. "I have something to tell you all."

Nick's eyes darted quickly and met Warrick's, a look passing between them. A secretive look.

Greg hesitated, quickly glancing at Nick before continuing.

"This is kind of difficult to say, but I guess I should just spit it out." He took a deep breath. "I'm bisexual."

There was complete silence in the room everyone gazed at Greg, astonishment in their eyes.

"Is that the reason you're so happy? You'd finally decided to tell us?" Catherine questioned.

"Well no . . . I uh . . . also met someone the other day, and I—" Greg started when Catherine interrupted him.

"Met someone? Well he's got some pretty good taste if he went for you," Catherine winked at him, hoping that what she had just said came out okay.

Greg blushed and smiled. "Yeah, I'd say he does."

A babble of talk finally broke through, everyone speaking at once, except Nick. He hadn't said a word, and his eyes never left Greg.

Greg could feel Nick staring at him, but he didn't care. Let Nick think whatever the hell he wanted. He was getting over the Texan. He had come out to the team and he had met someone new.

Yeah, life was getting better.

Let the _straight_ guy think whatever he wanted to. Greg didn't give a damn anymore.


	3. Chapter Three

**Eight Years into Never  
****Chapter Three  
**Greg's POV

_**July 21st**_

The graveyard shift was finally over. A pretty easy night, Greg thought to himself as he showered and changed. He styled his hair in front of the mirror, a smile on his face. He was going on a breakfast date with Zane this morning, and he couldn't wait.

He almost skipped down the hall towards the locker room and practically bumped into Warrick.

"Oh, hey Warrick," Greg said, smiling up at the man. Warrick glowered back at him, fire in his eyes.

"Uh, something wrong?"

"You're damn right there's something wrong," Warrick growled, grabbing Greg by the shirt and dragging him into the empty locker room. Warrick shoved him down onto the bench, and held him there by the shoulder, his grasp almost talon like. "What the hell are you doing, Greg?"

The question took Greg by surprise. "What am I doing? I was going to get my stuff before going home."

Warrick gave him the 'you're an idiot' look. "That's not what I mean," he snarled, his deep voice low, threatening. Greg was taken aback. What was he talking about?

"I don't understand."

With a groan of exasperation Warrick let go of his shoulder and started to pace the room. He turned back towards the younger man. "Why are you throwing everything away, Greg?"

"Why am I throwing what away?" Greg asked right back, starting to get annoyed. He hated the fact that Warrick always treated him like a little kid, a little child who was always doing something wrong. "Warrick, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Nick."

A chill swept over Greg, but he didn't know why. Nick had been pretty nonexistent in Greg's life recently. He could sleep now. He had fun with Zane. He wasn't hiding himself anymore. He could be free. Nick had no part in this. He was a thing of the past.

"What about him?" Greg asked, a little too quickly.

"He told me about how you asked him out. On a date," Warrick replied slowly, drawing it out.

"Yeah, and he said he was straight, Warrick. That means he wasn't interested in me," Greg told him flatly, standing up. Warrick still made himself tower over Greg, but the younger man was done being intimidated. "Why are we even discussing this? It doesn't matter anymore. I personally don't care."

Greg pushed past Warrick, intent on getting out of there. He was done with this. Done with his feelings.

"It matters to Nick," Warrick muttered to himself, shaking his head, but Greg was too far away to hear him.


	4. Chapter Four

**Eight Years into Never  
****Chapter Four  
**Nick's POV

_**July 22nd**_

Confusion and pain. A heart wrenching pain, an ache, that wouldn't leave. No amount of Aspirin would help, no Tylenol either. No, this was a mental ache, a mental hurt. The worst kind, in Nick's opinion.

Day after day he had kicked himself over and over for saying those two damning words: "I'm straight."

A lie. A huge, monstrous, elephantine lie. Nick felt like he would choke on those words as he uttered them, but he didn't. He said them without thinking, without considering. He couldn't help it. Terror would do that to you, he supposed, but he was just rationalizing. He had been too afraid to admit that he was gay, so he had lied. It should have been simple to fix, but Nick couldn't. His mind wouldn't let him.

Now what was he supposed to do? Tell Greg the truth? It was too late for that. Swallow the memories and get on with his life? That would have been impossible. Maybe he should . . . talk to Greg? They had been avoiding each other like the plague. No more joking around, no more teasing, no more smiles or laughter.

Could your heart honestly hurt like this? Maybe he was having a mild heart attack.

Nick subconsciously rubbed his chest, sitting at his kitchen table. He had a glass of water in front of him and a single Aspirin. Maybe he should have a few more . . . like five.

He sighed, knowing that taking the pills would do nothing for him. He had brought this on himself and he had to live with the consequences of being the biggest idiot in existence.

Nick took a drink of water as he contemplated what was happening. One name popped into his mind: Zane.

He had heard Greg gushing, actually gushing, about him to Catherine a few days ago as he walked by the break room. As he hurried by he felt someone's eyes on his back. His heart leaped in his chest as the sensation spread throughout his body. Maybe Greg was watching him? A wild glance over his shoulder told him it was Catherine . . . and she had a peculiar expression on her face. Sympathy, maybe? Nick didn't like it, whatever it was.

Nick took another sip of water, the cool liquid flowing down his throat and calming his body. Every time he thought of Greg's new boyfriend—

_(his lover)_

—he felt this incurable amount of jealousy, of rage erupt in his chest. He could see the two men (he always pictured Zane as being tall, with light green eyes and sandy blonde hair) going to Frank's. This was the _team's_ place, but Greg would take him there anyways.

Sometimes Nick felt this jealousy would consume him, tormenting him until he snapped and did something he'd regret . . . something everyone would lament over years and years afterwards. He could see himself throttling the man who was bringing Greg so much happiness, and sometimes . . . sometimes Nick could see himself being throttled by . . . by himself.

His stomach growled, bringing him out of his worrisome thoughts. Nick sighed and glanced at the clock. It was noon—time for lunch. Thinking of Frank's Diner had made him want to go there, just to be there. No real reason, really. Just somewhere to go . . . to be around others that necessarily weren't there with him.

Sadly, Nick was lonely, yet the man he wanted to be with probably never wanted to speak to him again. And Nick couldn't blame him for that.


	5. Chapter Five

**Eight Years into Never  
****Chapter Five  
**Nick's POV

_**Later the Same Day**_

Nick sat down at his regular table, his eyes already wandering around the familiar diner. Sometimes even he wondered why they came here . . . but of course it was tradition. Well, it was tradition when you were in a group, so what was he doing here alone?

As if reading his thoughts, an extremely familiar person dropped down onto the bench opposite him, his face almost uneasy.

Greg smiled hesitantly then said, "How's it goin'?"

After being angry, upset, and defeated, Nick didn't know how to reply. He wanted Greg to know how furious he was at him for getting a boyfriend, but Nick didn't want to appear unfriendly.

It was a conundrum.

And how the hell did you say that things were going fine when your world had flitted away without you?

"Oh, you know," Nick replied airily. There . . . a good non-descriptive answer. Greg nodded as if he could understand—

_(he had no damn clue)_

—and said, "Nice weather we've been having, hey?"

Did Nick's mouth actually fall open? Was he that astounded at Greg's choice topic of conversation?

Apparently so.

Greg blushed slightly, a light pink rising in his cheeks. "Er . . . wait, wow that was lame, so uh—"

"Did you come here by yourself?" Nick interrupted, his tone almost accusing. He should stop and take a deep breath before things got out of hand, but . . .

"What? Oh, yeah, I did, why—"

"Didn't bring Zane with you?"

"No, I didn't, but that's really—"

"Hmm. . . I'd have thought you two would be inseparable by now. What, he doesn't like Frank's or something?"

Greg's mouth was working furiously by now, but no noise was coming out. He couldn't figure out why the hell Nick was acting like this.

"I haven't even brought Zane here. He's more into nicer places, actually," Greg finally responded.

Silence. Nick didn't say anything, he just glared daggers at Greg, his dark eyes murderous.

"Nick, why are you acting like this?" Greg demanded.

"You can't tell?" Nick saw Greg flinch as his words emerged from his mouth. Those words seemed strangled, half alive—

_(half dead)_

—and as if they had crawled up from the bottom of a rotting pond somewhere. Words that Nick were fighting not to let out. He wanted to be over Greg . . . he didn't want to discuss his feelings.

Greg shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving Nick's.

Still struggling with himself, Nick heard his own voice utter the words: "I lied."


	6. Chapter Six

**Eight Years into Never  
****Chapter Six  
**Greg's POV

_**The Same Day, Same Time**_

He lied.

He _lied._

_He lied!_

"Why?" Greg asked, a huge tidal wave of emotions rising in him. Anger, resentment, fury, and . . . what was this? Some . . . hope?

Nick hung his head in shame as he played with a scuffed up silver spoon that was on a slightly stained napkin in front of him. "I . . . I couldn't tell you the truth."

"But _why_?"

"Because maybe I'm not _you_. I just can't open up like that. You told everyone that you were bi . . . I can't do that. I couldn't even tell _you_ how I felt," Nick mumbled, his voice almost a whisper.

Greg wasn't entirely astonished, but something Nick had said had caught his attention. "How _do_ you feel, then?"

Nick squirmed in his seat, shuffling his feet and rubbing his face, yet he didn't reply.

Greg persisted. "Nick?"

"Greg, do we have to talk about this? It's done. Honestly, it's over and done. You've moved on, so what if I haven't? I just want—"

"Wait," Greg interjected swiftly, his heart starting to strum in his chest, "what do you mean you haven't moved on? You . . . you actually _liked_ me?"

Nick barely nodded, his deep chestnut eyes sweeping Greg's face for the merest fraction of a second before they were captured once again by the table.

"I . . . I don't know what to say, Nick. If you had only said this before . . . then maybe . . ." Greg's thought trailed off into oblivion, along with all his old dreams, his old hopes. They were nothing anymore. They were remnants, if that. Memories. They weren't any use to him.

"I know, Greg. I regret it, more than anything. Trust me, I know," Nick spat out, his voice harsh with remorse. He shook his head in irritation, but Greg knew it wasn't aimed at him. Nick's anger was aimed at himself.

"Nick," Greg said softly, as he reached across the table to gently hold on to Nick's hands, "I wish you had told me before."

"I know," the Texan murmured, prying his eyes upwards to gaze into Greg's eyes.

"Nick, I really like Zane. I'm glad to have him in my life. He makes me happy," Greg told him. He stopped and took a deep breath, but he didn't let go of the Texan's hands. "I'm sorry Nick, but this isn't going to work out. For eight years I'd loved you, and I thought I was ready. Well, I guess that part was real, but me thinking that you were ready wasn't. I'm . . . I'm so sorry Nicky."

He dropped Nick's hands and jumped out of his seat. He didn't want to see Nick cry. He had already seen a tear cascade softly down the older man's cheek as he talked, and he couldn't deal with that. He needed to be out of here. He needed to be free of this.

Greg left without a backwards glance, already at his car in an instant. Without even thinking, he was driving. Nowhere in particular, just driving. Within an hour he was out of Las Vegas and into the desert, into the hot, arid desert. Into a place with no one around, and that was exactly what Greg wanted.

The highway was deserted. After a few miles, Greg pulled over and stopped, his window rolled down fully. He opened the door after a moment and went into the middle of the highway, scanning both ways before lowering himself onto the excruciatingly hot road.

He put his hands behind his head and stared at the wide-open, cloudless sky. It was a never-ending, light baby blue sky. Greg couldn't see a single cloud, not one. Why he cared, he didn't know.

He had told Nick what he honestly felt, what he honestly thought, and for what? He still loved Nick. And now he would never be with him. He was going to continue seeing Zane instead of Nick. The guy he had met at the grocery store over the man he had met at work. The stranger he had met only a few weeks prior over the man he had known (and loved) for eight years.

Why?

Greg wanted this to be over. He wanted to be over Nick. The Texan with the knee-melting accent, with the absolutely mind-numbing eyes and the body that a model would be proud of . . . yeah, that was the man Greg had said goodbye to.

Again . . . _why?_

Greg almost half wanted to jump into his vehicle and race back to Las Vegas and into Nick's arms. He wanted to feel Nick's heart beating, feel the older man's breath on his cheek, his low voice murmuring in his ear.

A well-known song by Blackflag started screaming from Greg's cell phone. Startled, Greg vaulted himself onto his feet. He raced towards the awaiting vehicle with a haphazard glance in both directions. No cars anywhere, except for his.

Without knowing why, Greg's fingers were trembling as he reached across the driver's seat and grasped the slim black cell phone on the passenger seat. He quickly flipped it over and checked the Caller ID.

It was Zane.

In a rush of feeling Greg realized why he had told Nick why he couldn't be with him. It was because Zane was here . . . Zane was ready for him.

Nick may be the man of Greg's dreams, but Zane . . . Zane was here for Greg when he needed him to be. Zane could be Greg's friend and also his boyfriend.

And right now, all Nick could be was his friend.

With a slight smile on his face, Greg flipped open the cell and took the call.


End file.
